


A Light in the Darkness

by Anonymous



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Child Neglect, Day One, Fuck ICE, M/M, hey is it too meta to tag rpf with canon-typical violence?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22767385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mike stretched and looked out the window. There were fireworks going off in the distance. “Can you believe we're here? After it was the four of us scheming in your living room two years ago?”“Yeah, this was the ultimate underdog story,” Lis said, finally looking away from her phone. "Disney will never do it better."Chasten abruptly choked back a laugh. “I just realized, we're off to make a big dramatic gesture five minutes into your presidency. This is the gayest thing you've ever done.”“You're the gayest thing I've ever done,” Pete shot back, still reading the briefing documents.Agent Tegan snorted. “I think I'm going to enjoy the next four to eight years.”
Relationships: Chasten Buttigieg/Pete Buttigieg
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27
Collections: Anonymous





	A Light in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up babies because this fandom needs more Day One Fuckin' Priorities. 
> 
> I'm staying on anon because the bros managed to dox Lis Smith's Nigerian brother from another mother in one of the stupider conspiracies of this cycle. I kinda wish there was a political version of Fandom Wank because for real... the fucking bros deserve a mention.

***********

Operation Blitz evolved organically, if anything can be said to happen organically, in a tightly managed and extremely organized political campaign. Pete was a pragmatic above all else. Everyone liked to talk about 'Day One' this and 'Day One' that but honestly Day One was move-in day. Nothing would be set up since evicting the prior administration had taken basically every day since the election. Their new @Whitehouse.gov emails wouldn't even be ready.

The media got wind of Operation Blitz and wrongly assumed it was the flurry of actions taken by the campaign to protect the Buttigiegs and force the previous administration to leave. Nobody in the know corrected them. A few select impending acting Directors of state agencies were practically rubbing their hands together with glee as they plotted.

Trump tried to void the election, have President-Elect Buttigieg arrested, have Future First Gentleman Chasten arrested, refused the permits for the inauguration events, and finally tried to incite an armed uprising of his devoted base to storm DC. It took the Secret Service explaining to Trump he'd be leaving the White House one way or the other on January 21st before he finally, bitterly, flounced off to Mar el Lago the morning of the inauguration. Not before issuing an incoherent and conspiracy-theory laden rant on the lawn while Marine One warmed up in the background.

Even with all the drama, the inauguration went off without a hitch and later they opened the Inauguration Ball dancing to Shea Diamond's 'America Pie'. The party went on until close to midnight when the ushers gently began clearing plates and cleaning up the room. The new first family left with a smile and a wave. The staff had done an amazing job, including sage per Chasten's request, at cleaning up the living quarters and setting it up with their own furniture.

Buddy and Truman bounced around greeting them, and then went back to their beds after collected some pats and scratches. They'd had a long day too.

Chasten eyed the bed regretfully as he stripped out of his tux and hung up the jacket. “I know we have to leave, but at some point this week we are going to fuck right through that mattress.” Pete laughed at him, “I'm looking forward to it.” Then the levity fell off his face. “You don't have to come with me. It's going to be rough.”

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.” Silently, they both finished dressing for the trip. Pete in his trademark suit and blue tie and Chasten in slacks and a polo. They stepped out in the hallway together. Agent Tegan, the head of Pete's detail, waited for them with their 'disguises'. 

Pete and Chasten shrugged on the big coats and pulled the baseball hats low over their eyes as they were ushered through empty hallways to a small side door. The Beast, the armored limo used to convey the President, was still parked in the garage. A pair of nondescript, highly modified SUVs waited for them, already loaded with two agents and one newly appointed Chief of Communications and Chief of Staff.

“This is going to be the only time you can do this,” Agent Tegan warned as they climbed in the SUV like regular, high-ranking people leaving a party. If anyone caught a glimpse out a window they could be Senators or Ambassadors. “After today it's all Marine One and bodyguards everywhere.” They pulled away from the White House barely twenty minutes after leaving the ball. 

“I can't put this off,” Pete said as he opened the briefing folder. “Do they know we're coming?”

Lis didn't look up from her phone. “Nope. None of our advance scouts on the ground reported any unusual activity. You did announce during the campaign and again last week this would be a first hundred days priority so they are expecting change.. but not in four hours when you kick their door in.” She had been up to her own skulduggery for the last few hours restoring the fourth estate to a position of influence.

Mike stretched and looked out the window. There were fireworks going off in the distance. “Can you believe we're here? After it was the four of us scheming in your living room two years ago?”

“Yeah, this was the ultimate underdog story,” Lis said, finally looking away from her phone. "Disney will never do it better."

Chasten abruptly choked back a laugh. “I just realized, we're off to make a big dramatic gesture five minutes into your presidency. This is the gayest thing you've ever done.”

“You're the gayest thing I've ever done,” Pete shot back, still reading the briefing documents. 

Agent Tegan snorted. “I think I'm going to enjoy the next four to eight years.”

The week before, with delighted help from the Secret Service, they had taken the precaution of announcing Air Force Once was going to be moved so the interior could be refitted at Boeing's facilities in Virginia. Due to the drama of getting rid of the desperate-to-be-a-dictator, the move ended up delayed. A boring, predictable result for those paying attention. The flight crew wasn't surprised when the move got pushed back multiple times.

The flight crew was also used to being on call 24/7, so when the order came they were taking the plane for the refit at two in the morning they rolled with the punches and reported back. Some of them came directly from the inauguration parties still lighting up the streets. Fortunately, they all had enough discipline to refrain from drinking if they were on call, but people who couldn't keep it together did not work on Air Force One. 

However, it was a surprise when the press began showing up, escorted into the hanger in small groups. All of them had been invited to the inauguration ball and had been pulled aside one by one, sworn to secrecy, temporarily surrendered their phones and watches, and sent off without any idea where they were going or for what reason beyond the promise of a good story at the end. Liz swore it would be worth losing a night of sleep.

When the new Chief of Communications promised sneaking around... well, what journalist would refuse? They'd all come a long way from sharing a bus meandering around Iowa. By necessity Pete and Chasten stayed at the ball until everyone else was in place.

Chasten paused a moment before he followed Pete into Air Force One to slap a large rainbow sticker on the side of the plane. “Remind me to make sure someone gets a shot of that tomorrow.”

They took a quick tour of the plane, greeted the insatiably curious press and discovered their willingly shainghai'd press pool had passed the time by coming up with increasingly outlandish theories about what was going on. Lis explain the plan and went into the nitty-gritty detail what to took to arrange this excursion while Pete and Chasten went to the small suite set aside for the President's use. The day was rapidly catching up with them and Chasten muffled a yawn as he pulled Pete toward the tiny bed and stepped out of his shoes. 

“We need sleep so bad right now but I am absolutely blowing you here at some point-” 

Pete cut him off with a kiss as they undressed. “Not everything is about you. Maybe I want to blow you here right now.”

“Oh... I could get behind that idea-” Chasten pretended to consider it. “How big is that shower?” 

A moment of inspection revealed it was definitely not big enough unless they wanted to get water everywhere and make it extremely obvious they totally fucked in the shower. Regretfully, Chasten pulled off his shirt while Pete, forever nosy, inspected the contents of every cabinet and drawer en lieu of getting ready for a nap. 

“Come on, we need sleep. You're going to crash the minute your head hits the pillow.” 

Pete narrowed his eyes at his husband. “I have a bit of energy yet.” 

“Sure you do, champ. Come here.” The bed was tiny, twin size and definitely not meant for two. Probably the couch pulled out into a bed, but neither of them had any intention of bothering with it. They slept piled up against each other almost every night anyway. 

Chasten scooted across the silky sheets and laid on his side flat against the wall of the plane. Someone had thoughtfully installed a thick pad against the wall so his back rested against something soft instead of the hard wall. The plane thrummed around them as they cruised south. Pete stripped down to his boxers and set an alarm before he flicked off the lights. He gave out a contented sigh as he crawled into bed and curled against his husband. Chasten hooked flung an arm and a leg over him to hold him tight. 

“I love you,” Chasten whispered against his skin and planted a soft kiss on the back of Pete's neck. 

“I love you too,” Pete replied, and let sleep take him.

*********

At far too early in the morning the alarm beeped twice and Pete bounced out of the tiny bed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like he'd had a full night of sleep in their bed at home instead of less than three hours squished onto the tiny bed aboard Air Force One. He ducked in the shower for an extremely quick wash and didn't bother to shave. He flipped on the TV while he pulled on a suit. All the coverage was rehashing the events of the day before. Nothing about today or his current whereabouts. Pete gave a toothy grin he did not show on the campaign trail. There was just something so satisfying about pulling off a successful ambush. 

Chasten groaned and cracked open an eye to watch his morning person of a husband bounce around the suite planning out his day. 

“You're lucky I love you,” he grumbled as he sat up. Pulling himself out the bed required too much coordination just yet. The steady rumble of the plane was surprisingly soothing. He looked out the window and saw the sun barely peaking over the horizon in the clear sky. 

“Hey, the sun's coming up. I want to tweet about this moment.”

Pete laughed. “Oh, there will be plenty to tweet about later.”

Lis knocked sharply on the door, “Got your pants on? It's go time.” She opened the door just wide enough to wave around a couple of coffee cups. Pete gratefully took them and thanked her while she briefed them without looking. “We're landing in ten minutes. Transportation is already at the airport. Nobody has any idea we're coming and it's going to be a beautiful day. Let's go fuck their shit up.”

Fuck their shit up indeed. “How long will it take to get there?” Pete asked, knocking back his black coffee and buttoning up his jacket.

“Twenty minutes. I'm going to turn the press loose once we're at the gates. There's always some protesters. There may be more today, but we should be there before they really get set up. The advance team is waking up the moves and shakers we need to clear out the facility. They're set to move in after us once it's secure.” 

Pete followed Lis out into the plane to strap in for landing. Bleary-eyed, Chasten shrugged on a shirt and slipped into a seat just before the plane began coming in for a landing at McAllen International Airport. 

Normally, a state visit would have a police motorcycle escort. Normally, a state visit was arranged months in advance. Pete did not trust the local law enforcement not to tip off the detainment facility so the police escort was replaced by Secret Service agents riding motorcycles shipped in the week before. They were going for full pomp and circumstance, but this trip was basically a raid. 

******************

“What the fuck is this?” Officer Wendall said as he saw the procession coming up the road from the guard shack at Ursula, the largest migrant detention facility. Five black SUVs with heavily, probably illegally, tinted windows, and twenty motorcycle cops came flying up the road like it was the goddamned Fourth of July parade. Every vehicle had America flags waving from the sides like they were in the West Wing. “We got VIP visitors today? Is that the governor?”

“Dunno. I hadn't heard anything,” Officer Jackson responded. “If it isn't the governor then visiting hours don't open until nine. They can fuck off outside with the protesters.” 

They both watched, a little uneasy, as the procession smoothly rearranged so the second vehicle was now the lead as they pulled up to the gate. The driver rolled his window down to reveal a sturdy black man wearing a suit and sunglasses, even though the sun was barely up. He studied the two guards like they were the most inconsequential people he'd ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. 

The driver held out a badge. “Agent White, Secret Service. Open this gate.”

Officer Wendall sneered. He'd never actually seen a real Secret Service badge but this pageantry was ridiculous. “No. You expect me to believe the President is here? Nice try. Who are you with really? Amnesty International? Refugee Resettlement? Impersonating a federal officer-” 

The almost silent whirring of a window being rolled down caught his attention. Agent White grinned and tucked his badge away.

“Open this gate,” President Buttigieg ordered, coldly furious. “Right now.” 

The color drained out of Officer Wendall's face before he scrambled back in the guard shack. “Open the gates, now, you heard him!” He was so rattled did not notice two of the 'cops' in the procession calmly following him inside the guard shack to ensure they did not call anyone else.

Adam, Lis's most favorite embed, and his camerawoman, Sheila, were in the car with Pete and filmed the whole encounter. “Lis please, let me put it on twitter. That was glorious. I think he peed himself a little.” Adam begged. “We're here, c'mon. Please?”

She watched the mad scramble around courtyard as the guards came to attention. “Yeah, okay, I think Operation Blitz is over. You can tweet.” She jerked her head toward the bag of confiscated electronics in the floorboard. “You can have your phones back.” 

“Yes!” Seconds later he was madly logging into twitter to launch the tweet he'd spent the entire drive here composing in his mind. 

'Day One. Promise One. President Buttigieg is shutting down the camps on the border. Personally.'

They rolled up the door and Lis held out the bag of phones and apple watches while reporters fished out their own devices and got in touch with their news rooms. The camera teams were already filming President Pete demanding entry to the facility that had successfully kept out Senators and Representatives a few months before.

The guard on the door held out, so the world got to see a livid President Buttigieg running on little sleep and less patience broadcast live. All the morning news shows scrambled to switch their coverage to their newly discovered reporters on the ground. A few minutes later, the door opened and the detail spread out to secure the facility.

They stepped from the hallway into the facility proper. It reeked of sewage and sweat. Chasten shivered. Most of the prisoners stood up in their pens, but some didn't even bother. Pete went straight up to the first cage full of men and spoke rapidly to them in Spanish. He opened the door and went in, followed by wincing Secret Service agents. President Pete told them he was sorry this happened to them. They would be freed and reunited with their families. Buses were on the way to take them somewhere safe. 

Mike hung back and coordinated the arrival of the transportation from a dozen charities that had space to take the prisoners. The Secret Service agents spread out and secured the facility, with not a moment to spare because they found the night-shift commander standing over a half-full shredder with files in his hands and a roaring fire going in a file cabinet. The agents grimly noted all the unburnt files belonged to unaccompanied teenage girls as they handcuffed him. He howled for a lawyer.

Pete went from cage to cage apologizing and listening and promising they would be reunited to their families. If he had the power to declare they were all citizens now and free to go he would have done it. It wasn't until he, and his entourage, made slow progress past the cages of men and then the cages of woman that they walked around a half-wall and found the cages of children. 

“Oh my god,” Chasten gasped and covered his mouth with one hand and grabbed Pete's hand with the other. They were divided by boys in one chain link cage and girls in another. There were mats on the floor, but it was obvious some children were sleeping on the bare cement. It smelled like dirty diapers. Some of the girls had blood stains on their pants from getting their periods, but not any pads. It was filthy, squalid, and cold. Tears sprung to his eyes. 

Pete did the same thing he'd been doing, stopping at the nearest cage and talking to them in Spanish, promising the nightmare was over. One girl, probably eight or nine boldly walked up to him and held out her wrist for him to inspect. She had a beaded bracelet with her grandmother's name and phone number. Nobody had bothered to call it. Her name was Esme and she had been there for two months. She didn't know what happened to her mother after she was taken away. 

“Please call my grandmother to come for me, please,” Esme begged in Spanish. Pete squatted down to be on her level and took out his phone. He gently cradled her wrist while he punched in the numbers. It rang five times before a woman answered, her voice thick with sleep. He spoke to her in rapid Spanish, listened, and the spoke some more with his voice full of sorrow before he gave the phone to Esme before turning to Lis, Chasten, and Agent Tegan. A camera with a good microphone was pointed his direction so he didn't know it, but he was being broadcast live.

“She's been a prisoner here for three months because nobody bothered to call her grandmother. Her mother was returned to Honduras and then killed by the same gangs she fled. Her grandmother thought Esme was dead too. This child is an orphan now because of the cruelty of the prior administration and someone is going to pay for it in fucking spades. Her grandmother is in Jacksonville. Can you watch her until we leave? We'll take her home. She's been through enough.” 

“Got it.” Lis replied, taking Esme's hand. “Tell her I'll stay with her until we get to her granny.” Pete crouched down again and did as she asked. “This does mean she'll get to follow me around for a while,” her eyes glittered. “Watching me kick ass is going to be a good experience.”

Agent Tegan gave a quick update, “The facility commander is being held in one of the front offices. Preliminary analysis appears to be correct. The night shift commander was shredding files of teenage girls, none of whom appear to still be in this building. He'd also lit a file cabinet on fire. I doubt everything is backed up electronically. He saw us come in and started destroying records immediately so doing this in a blitz was an excellent idea. He's under arrest now.”

Chasten, who had been overwhelmed by the horror, spotted something with his teacher's instincts. He jogged over to the younger boys pen and let himself in. In the far corner there was a small child, sitting in filth on the bare cement floor, with no diaper or pants, facing the wall. Dark bruises marred his skin on both arms, exactly where an adult would grab. Chasten made a beeline for the toddler and crouched beside him. Agent Bauer translated as one of the marginally older boys in the pen explained. 

“This is Javier, he's eight. He tried to look after the baby but the guards don't give them any diapers. The guards said he's old enough not to need diapers so the older boys take his pants off when he sleeps so he won't soil them. They can't clean him up until after breakfast when they're allowed napkins. The guards get mad when he makes a mess so they keep him in the back corner out of the way.”

Chasten looked at Javier, a serious little boy wearing a stained blue shirt and dirty jeans. “Thank you for looking after him. Do you know his name?”

Javier shook his head and said something Agent Bauer translated. “He says the little boy doesn't speak or cry. He used to walk but he doesn't anymore. He was here when Javier arrived, in October.” Only the waver in Bauer's voice betrayed her anger children had been kept like this for months.

Chasten reached for a space blanket to wrap up the toddler and Javier went to stop him, urgently explaining they didn't get more blankets if one got dirty. Agent Bauer reassured him it was fine, they wouldn't need those blankets any more. They were leaving here today and never coming back. Javier seemed very doubtful, but he allowed Chasten to take the blanket.

The toddler, Chasten estimated his age closer to three than two, passively let Chasten wipe the worst of the filth off and then with the blanket folded so the dirty part was covered he picked up the boy. The Refugee Resettlement team and Heath and Human Services people trailed into the room with clipboards to collect the children. “I'm going to find a bathroom and clean him. Let me know when you find out who he is.”

He made his way out of the pen, blinking away tears and holding the child close to his chest. 

Chasten found the bathroom easily enough and shook his head. It was a giant shower, prison style. Not anything suitable for children. The sinks were too tiny and shallow to use as a tub. There weren't any towels in sight. Chasten went back out to the hallway and tried doors until he found an unlocked closet with stacks and stacks of clean towels. 

“Finally,” he said. “Lets get you cleaned up now, does that sound good? Yeah, I think that sounds good.” Chasten kept up a mindless chatter at the toddler, as he filled up two sinks with warm water. He stood the little boy up in one sink and used one of the towels as a wash cloth, dipping it in the clean water of the other sink. He washed the bruises on his little arms and could see the darker spots where fingers pressed in as someone had dragged the boy around. The backs of his legs were rubbed raw from sitting on a rough cement floor. Clinically, Chasten noted he was too skinny on top of everything else.

Through it all the wide-eyed little boy sucked on his thumb and didn't make a sound. Chasten gave him one final rinse and didn't notice one of the journalists in the doorway, snapping a picture while he wrapped the child in a towel and cuddled him close. “Lets find you some clean clothes and see about breakfast. Does that sound good to you, breakfast?”

The boy put one arm around Chasten's neck and curled into his side. “I got you,” Chasten whispered. “I got you now.” 

He went back out into the big room and discovered half the children had already been taken away. The other half were eating what looked like breakfast tacos brought in by Mike's team. There were still too many in this horrible room. Chasten went up to Agent Bauer. “Were you able to find out who this little guy is?”

“Not yet. Some of the records have been destroyed.”

Chasten pursed his lips in anger. “Are there clean clothes anywhere?”

“I'll show you.” Agent Bauer led him to a large store room packed with children's backpacks and little, brightly colored luggages with tags. “It's what the kids came in with. They took everything away except one set of clothes.” 

Chasten closed his eyes and focused on calming his breathing. He had a tiny boy depending on him to keep it together, not matter how upset he was at the casual cruelty. He folded the emotions away and opened his eyes. There was a pile of loose clothes in a bins along the wall. Chasten and Bauer rummaged through until they found a slightly too-big shirt and too-long pants. Socks with orange dinosaurs completed the outfit.

“There you go, don't you look handsome.” Chasten said as he went back out in the big, horrible room again with the boy sitting snugly on his arm. There were a few breakfast tacos left, and bottled water stacked beside them. Chasten had no appetite, but he unwrapped one and held up it up for the boy, who took one small bite. 

Chasten praised his efforts, “Good job, look at you eating breakfast. Can you take another bite for me?” 

He didn't know how long he sat in the corner and coaxed the child into eating almost half of the bacon and egg taco and sipping water before Pete found him. Chasten didn't even realize until Pete crouched down and reached out to touch his arm. 

“Who is this?” he asked, quietly.

“No idea. They haven't found his records yet and none of the guards even know his name. Peter, he has bruises on his arms.” 

Pete sat down and gave him a sideways hug. “He's safe now. All the detainees have been released to family or transferred to a real shelter. Almost all of them had family here already. The feds have it now. We're about to go.”

A lady in red vest with a large 'Refugee Resettlement' emblem on the corner approached with a clipboard. “Excuse me, what is his name?” She asked while consulting her list. “I don't have any more boys his age registered at this facility.”

“We don't know,” Chasten said, emotionally spent. “Listen, we're registered foster parents in Indiana. Can I look after this little guy until we know who he is and find his parents?”

She regarded them calmly for a long moment. “I don't suppose you're going to disappear with him. Officially, he's in border patrol custody but children are supposed to be transferred to foster homes within two days, which obviously didn't happen. Do you have any information about him?”

Chasten relayed what Javier had told him and Bauer and then felt dampness on his arm. “Excuse me, I need to go find a clean diaper.” 

Peter helped him stand up and then Lis came over with Esme trailing in her wake, grinning like a fiend. “It's time, the press conference is set up outside.” 

“You have a job to do, Mr. President.” Chasten said with a wry smile and leaned in to kiss his husband. “Go give them hell. We'll be fine. Who knows? Maybe this little guy's mom and dad will show up looking for him.”

Peter gave him a hug and leaned in tight for a long moment before he had to pull away. “After the presser we're leaving. Esme's grandmother is in Jacksonville, so we're dropping her off on the way back to DC. I guess pack a diaper bag.” 

It was good advice. Agent Bauer found another change of clothes and even located some diapers and wipes while Chasten gave the boy another little bird bath and this time put a diaper on him. “He needs to see a doctor,” Chasten said. “Do we travel with a doctor?” 

“Yes we do, actually. Dr. Marsh helped triage the adults. A lot of them have the flu.” Agent Bauer radioed the request and Dr. Marsh came to them, a petite older woman with kind eyes and laugh lines on her face. 

“Who is this?” she inquired as she lifted her stethoscope off her neck and began warming up the end between her palms. “ I thought all the children were gone already.” 

“We don't know. He's a lost boy.” Chasten said. “No records, doesn't speak, doesn't cry. Used to walk but doesn't anymore. Used to be potty-trained but he isn't anymore. Barely eats. Deeply traumatized.”

“Deeply traumatized is right,” Dr. Marsh replied as she led them over to the triage area. “Will he let go of you?” 

Chasten tried to set him down on the bench but the boy tightened his grip on Chasten's shirt and wouldn't let go. 

“Okay, okay, we can both sit down,” Chasten murmured as he sat down on the bench himself. “I guess we're doing this like this. He has bruises on his arms, and pressure sores on his legs. That should be documented.”

“No problem, no problem at all.” Dr. Marsh did a quick assessment and frowned. “He should be more active than this.”

Chasten carefully rearranged the boy's clothes so Dr. Marsh could document his injuries for the lawsuit. He showed her the pressure sores on the backs of his legs and she quickly put some ointment on the raw spots before photographing them as well. She pronounced him healthy enough considering the circumstances.

“I'm more concerned with his mental well-being than his physical condition right now. Honestly, he needs a sole caretaker, I assume you're taking that roll, and lots of physical contact and attention. Talk to him all the time. He needs to hear a friendly voice engaging him. The potty training will probably come back without too much effort once he feels secure and has a potty he can reach easily.” 

“Sounds like a plan. I can do all that. Rumor has it we're back to Washington as soon as Peter's done talking to the press.”

“Back to home sweet home,” Dr. Marsh replied, filling out her records. “Are you going to call him anything? I can put 'Unknown boy approximately 30 months' but a name would be useful.”

“I haven't though that far. I've been calling him Tiny.”

She jotted it down. “Tiny? How apt.” 

Agent Bauer stepped forward. “Chasten? We're about ready to go.”

“Is that a nice way to say everyone is waiting for me?” Chasten asked as they made their way to the door.

Lis caught up with them in the hallway. “How do you still have a kid? We're leaving now.” Esme wore Lis's bright red jacket and carried her ipad. She managed to look like a pint-sized personal assistant. Watching Lis rip shreds off the guards who had spent months terrorizing her had been quite refreshing. She clearly didn't know about her mother yet. 

Chasten turned a bit so Lis could see the boy's face. “Lis, this is Tiny. I'm watching him until we find his parents.”

“Really? Good for you. These kids...” she glanced down at Esme, “This place is a national disgrace.”

They didn't have a car seat so Chasten held Tiny all the way back to the airport. Nobody really talked during the trip. Esme was glued to the window. Peter leaned his head back in the seat and might have fallen asleep if the drive wasn't so short. Unlike this morning the press was all over the airport, and they were close enough to shoot pictures of Chasten carrying a small boy onto Air Force One and wildly speculate what that meant. Lis Smith having a little girl trotting at her heels only raised more questions.

Chasten and Pete abandoned Lis to deal with their traveling press corp and ducked into the small suite to have a moment of privacy. “I have to deal with stuff on the flight back. Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine.” Chasten chewed on his lip. “You're not mad?”

“At what? You rescuing a child from what was one step away from being a concentration camp? Never.” Pete leaned in and kissed him deeply, conveying his love. “Watch some cartoons and take a nap. We're stopping in Jacksonville in two hours and then we'll head back to DC. I'll have them bring you lunch in here if you think it'll be better for him.”

“They kept the lights on there all the time. It was cold all the time. Peter...” 

“They'll pay for it. Hundreds of counts of neglect if we can't find more, but there is definitely more.” Pete brightened. “I almost forgot to update you on the rest of Operation Blitz. Kamala has been tearing the DOJ to bits all morning and launching corruption investigations against basically every Trump appointee. Bill Taylor has been cleaning house in the State department.”

“People should be wary of calm, serious men who take lots of notes.” Chasten said, referencing Peter's dozens of notebooks at home. They were in a box at the White House now with their personal items they would unpack themselves. They probably belonged in the National Library considering how many outlines and drafts of speeches and policies they contained. But they also had drafts of love letters and grocery lists so maybe not.

“You're getting scruffy,” Chasten noted lightly. “Are you growing a beard?”

Pete rubbed his chin. “No, not now. I wanted to give the appearance of not resting since yesterday.” 

“Well. You basically didn't.”

“I can shave later.” Pete decided. “I'm going to rock the scruff today.” 

“Nice.” 

Pete actually did have more day-one business to deal with, so with one last kiss he left. He reached out and ruffled Tiny's hair on the way out. Chasten found some cartoons and texted Lis to send Esme back if she needed to get away from everyone. Lis sent him a picture of her mini-me watching Shrek with two Secret Service agents and half the press pool.

Tiny nibbled on the grilled cheese sandwich, but he guzzled all the tomato soup down like it was candy. Chasten requested another bowl for him. Tiny finished half of that one before he abruptly fell asleep, still clutching Chasten's shirt. Chasten wiped Tiny's face carefully and stretched out on the couch. The emotions of the day caught up with him and he slept. 

An indeterminate amount of time later Agent Tegan gently prodded him awake. “We're landing soon in Jacksonville. You both need to strap in. Here, sit up.” 

Tiny made a small fussing noise as he woke up, the first noise he'd made all day. Chasten carefully sat him down and Agent Tegan showed him the hidden seatbelt in the couch so they didn't have to leave the suite. Tiny seemed all right with it as long as he could keep one hand tangled up in Chasten's shirt. He went wide-eyed at the landing but kept his focus on the cartoons.

Pete stuck his head in the door for a few moments, anger written across his face. He smoothed his expression before Tiny noticed, but Chasten could tell by tense lines around his mouth somebody had managed to really step in it. 

“What happened?”

“The original plan was for Esme's grandmother to meet us at the airport. She got as far as the airport and then ICE, determined to make me obliterate them, arrested her. I'm off to make them rue the day. It's not like there isn't plenty of international nonsense going on for me to deal with right now. I do not have time for some power-tripping-” he cut himself off. “Anyway, I'll be back in a bit.”

'A bit' turned into three hours. Chasten watched the live CNN feed on his phone as Pete laid waste to ICE. They were folded back into health and human services, all their upper management was suspending pending review, and Esme's grandmother was released. There was some touching footage of Esme bolting to her side once she emerged from the station.

Mike updated him once Pete was headed back to the airport. “We finished interviewing all the guards. They didn't want Tiny at the Ursula, but they couldn't transfer him without a record of where they got him and they didn't have that, so they just ignored him. He was there between five and six months. One guard was actively trying to find his record and she turned over her research to us. It's going to take some time, and our best bet is his parents seeing him on tv and coming forward.”

“If they have access to a tv,” Chasten said bitterly. “If they're still detained or deported then it might be a while.”

Mike grinned. “At the rate the Pete works... I don't think so. They're taking the directive to reunite the families seriously after today. The reunification website is up and running. Commercials advertising it in central and south America have started running. People can register if they're missing family. Hundreds of people have come forward about being deported but their children are still here, and adopted in some cases. Pete's going to have to dissolve the adoptions. It's a mess, a real mess.”

“What do I do?” Chasten asked, hopelessly. “What if his parents are never found?”

Mike idly shuffled through the papers in his hand for a moment. “We will find them. In the meantime, there is nobody better to watch him. I'll have Amanda shuffle your schedule for the next few days. We kept it fairly open anyway this week. I'm sure we'll know something by the end of the week.”

*********

Mike was overly optimistic. Pete ended up sequestered away with his staff for the rest of the trip back to DC. The more hills they kicked over the more corruption, cruelty, and sheer incompetence they found. Kamala did her part stirring up everything in the DOJ and it all trickled downhill from there. What she didn't put on blast, Vice President Abrams did. The press wasn't sure what to cover first. For once every major network led with a different story.

Tiny's eyes went wide as they pulled up to the White House and he sucked his thumb faster as he took in the imposing sight. Pete was whisked off to the situation room as soon as they arrived so Chasten was left alone to make his way back to their quarters. Someone had told the housekeepers they were coming home with a plus one, so there was an entire bedroom set up for a small child. There was also a trundle bed beside theirs. Buddy had already claimed it as his own and had drooled on the pillow.

The dogs were overjoyed Chasten had brought them a small boy to play with. Tiny had evidently been exposed to dogs before and giggled when Truman aggressively sniffed all over him while Buddy licked his hand. It was the first happy noise he'd made since Chasten had rescued him from that cage and it made Chasten's heart flutter. He plonked the little boy down beside the dog's toy box and showed him how to play fetch.

Tiny discovered he didn't even have to wait for the first toy to be returned. If he threw another one then both dogs would bound after it anyway. He amused himself flinging the entire contents of the dog's toy box all over the living room. Chasten watched them for a few minutes, and then stuck his head out the door. In all the hustle and bustle, he didn't actually know how to go about getting dinner. Amused, the agent in the hallway advised him which extension went to the kitchen.

The kitchen had excellent turn-around time for the First Gent and his ward. It was only a few minutes before dinner arrived. Chasten picked Tiny up and gently set him on his feet. “Do you remember how to walk for me?” He held Tiny's hands and carefully guided him to the table. Tiny clomped and wavered like a baby. His balance wasn't the greatest, but he managed to walk with Chasten supporting him. 

Chasten fed him dinner, and nibbled a little himself, and then with the assistance of the dogs hanging their heads over the tub because they were both busybodies, managed to give Tiny a warm bath and wash his hair. His bruises had faded a little, and he seemed like a different little boy from the almost catatonic child he'd washed in a prison sink that morning. 

He didn't have any pajamas for Tiny yet, so he just dried him off and bundled him into an old T-shirt of Peter's. They were already in the master bedroom, so he settled Tiny down on the trundle bed, shooed Buddy away, and then pulled up the Cat in the Hat on his phone while he sat on the floor. He dimmed the lights and the screen brightness so it wouldn't keep Tiny up and quietly began reading the bedtime story. 

Tiny's eyes began drooping somewhere around Thing One and Thing Two. Gradually, Chasten became aware of being watched. He finished the story before he looked up. Peter leaned against the open door, with his arms in his pockets and an indescribably soft expression on his face. Chasten pulled the blanket up to Tiny's chin and kissed his forehead before he stood up and made his way out of the room. 

“Peter-” he said, helplessly, and then leaned into deep kiss that left him breathless and sagging against his husband. Pete took has hand and led him back out into the living room so they could talk. Pete pulled them down to the sofa and cuddled him close, so Chasten had an idea of what was coming. It was still a gut-punch.

“We found his parents. It's amazing what can get done when I'm yelling at people. His mother was sent to the facility outside Seattle. His father was in Philly and got released two months ago. He's been trying to raise the money to pay his wife's bail and find his son ever since. They're both on their way here. They'll be here in the morning.”

“That's good- I mean, that's good.” Chasten said, trying to distance himself. “I- I know I shouldn't have gotten attached. It's better for him to be with his parents. I just-”

“I know. I'm so proud of you.” Pete stroked Chasten's back comfortingly for a few long moments. “I know we were going to wait until the first year was over before we had our own baby, but I don't want to wait. I don't.” 

Chasten pressed a kiss to his neck. “I don't either. What else happened today?”

“What didn't? I just came from promising the Iranian ambassador if they started anything in the next four weeks I was not going to be a happy camper. Trump was arrested at lunch time for money laundering. All the troops deployed as mercenaries to protect the fucking Saudis have been recalled. We're staying in the Paris Climate Accord. I think I signed two hundred executive orders between yesterday and today. Kamala is working on a plan to vet and possibly remove the more rabidly unqualified judges. Stacy's tearing though everything else. Lots of things going on.”

“You're making a difference.” Chasten said, wrung out and slumped into Pete's side. 

“So are you, here, let me show you this. It's on the cover of all the papers.” Pete pulled up a picture on his phone. “Lis was complaining you accidentally did more to promote what we did today than she did with Esme following her everywhere and chatting to the press about being a prisoner all the way to Florida.”

Chasten didn't even realize it had been taken. The picture was snapped from the doorway of the prison showers. Tiny, looking impossibly tiny standing in the sink, sucking his thumb and looking up at Chasten while Chasten washed him off. They were on the far right of the picture, showing the vast, bleak expanse of the room where children were expected to shower. The stark contrast between the institutional, impersonal prison showers and one person tenderly caring for a child couldn't be more of a tone-change.

'The Old... The New' was emblazoned across the top with the fonts flowing from serious to a more rounded, inviting, multicolored text for 'The New'. 

“Nice,” Chasten commented. “It smelled like mildew and despair in that room. Sharp corners. All I could think was cleaning him up and getting out of there. No child should have ever been in a room like that.”

“He's safe now. His mom and dad will be here tomorrow. He was separated five months ago so he may not even remember them. I invited them to stay here for a few days if they want. There's a therapist coming tomorrow who will help with the reunification.”

“That's good. Thank you. I don't know where to go from here?”

“We kept this week light so we could roll with the unexpected. Right now you don't have to do anything except look after Tiny. His name is Rafael, by the way. I spoke to his mother on the phone. She cried and said he was speaking in complete sentences when they took him away.”

“Rafael,” Chasten tried it out, and then looked at Pete out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, you've been President for a day and a half now.”

“Oh?” Pete managed to sound mildly interested in the observation but the edges of his mouth tugged up in a smile. “Is that relevant?”

Chasten slid his hand suggestively up Pete's leg. “I'm just saying, Tiny- Raphael is conked out and the bathroom here is considerably larger than on the plane. I feel an obligation for all the gays who came before us to thoroughly defile this building.”

“Gay rights?” Pete said, laughing as Chasten climbed into his lap to straddle him, muffling the laugh with a deep kiss.

“Yes, gay fucking rights,” Chasten replied when he finally came up for air. He rolled his hips and nibbled along Peter's neck, drawing a quiet moan. “We're in the White House- You're the fucking President- we couldn't get married less than a decade ago- and I'm just-” he sniffed. “I'm a basket case of emotions right now.”

Pete hugged him tight. “I know. So am I. We'll handle it all together. I promise.” 

“I love you,” Chasten breathed in the scent of Pete's cologne and relaxed, letting the stress of the past few days leech out of his system.

Pete stroked his back and seemed content to hold him. “I love you too.”

****

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually the Secret Service is going to read all of these and I just want to give them some quality entertainment. Is that too much to ask?


End file.
